AUSTRALIANS. Dumbed-down, can’t think… Part One. A Rewrite.


Ken And Friend: Part Two.

Partly Three; Ken and Boy, But Wait…

My Dear Ken and all Queensland Government sycophants,

I share with Andrew Bolt the sentiment of the dead, image-conscious macho American novelist, Hemingway, that the essential gift of a decent writer is a built-in, shock-proof shit detector. It is intuition as much as prescience he alluded to and heeding it can spare the sensitive soul the annoyance of little vainglorious nits.

You evidently sought a congress of sorts with Bolt who rejected your advances earning your denunciation. Don’t all you children of the Brethren so react? He would have instinctively summarised and dismissed you a la Papa, as a dumb-brained two second itch. Audacity can work if carefully balanced with charm but concealing a barren intellectual reservoir would be an incongruous demand on you.

Mediocre tyros can turn quite venomous when confronted with the reality of their limitations and quickly demonize those who can’t be hood-winked. Your nurturing meant a lifetime of being assured you were anything but an artless petty criminal has bred delusions. Evidence supporting intellectual value has yet to be found in the manipulators paean to the chicanery of the ruling class; The Holy Bible.

The age-old observation that fools are so sure of themselves while wiser people so full of doubt would have been gibberish had it been brought to your attention. Self-preservation bars adverse criticism of the State since it is only from that pre-set structure can the ongoing 30 pieces of silver sustain you. The dangling sword menacing Government sycophants stills the mildest of dissent, and their corruption becomes as complete and as thorough as that of their master. Mute witnesses will always be precluded from ever making believable statements. Enjoy being the Government’s mistress, my friend, for when you leave her embrace you will be as diseased and as contaminated as she.

I looked at alternate, boutique sites. With yours, I found a preoccupation with the 1969 best-seller of secret dossiers and lurking, under-cover coppers. Absolutely page one stuff today and of paramount importance. You run in fright and use ridicule at my suggestion of possible similar happenings on the current scene. I understand the superiority of impulsive youth, that those more than 10 years your senior wouldn’t know if you were up them. Mummy and Daddy being the exception, for working them is a valuable and cunning commodity. You accept whole-heartedly your parents physical, emotional, and financial help for sure, so you’ve waived the right to independent thought. Why continue the news charade? Pre-written slant harks back to your fave era. It’s remote and safe. What encouraged you to have a crack at such a blog? The concept is mostly ego-driven; “Look at me, Mum, Look at me, Mum.”

I would wager your literary effort wasted in the investigatory, scare-monger area, but as a magazine-type historian with an interest in past political intrigue. The family business of hell-fire looks a safe bet. It’s nourished and spooked the witless for two millennium and it is more entrenched in your system than is printer’s ink. Church parading politicians attest that a bridge runner’s vote has the same value as that of a bible-banger.

“Live and let live” had a divine value once upon a time. No more! The proliferation of the Government and religious fear industry has made acquiescence compulsory and individualism a blight to all but the most resolute. Given your haste to judge and convict me, I expect your ignorance and superstition will be at its prosecuting zenith when swine will once again ride with me in the tumbrel.

These files you tried to resurrect didn’t relate to current news events and I wondered why they were talked-up. Could be a feature or magazine filler, I concluded. The grand masthead promised much but delivered little. Who could be impressed by tiny, meaningless graphics of weirdos seeking official approval to poke their dicks into bags of excreta? The health hazards should alarm the most liberal of minds. The photos did nothing for the immediacy of nil importance. A globe-wandering friend claims that the essential zing factor of carnally knowing a man in the shadows of Red Square lost its impact with that countries adoption of the lenient western influence.

Your blog is as convincing as the simulated sex in Queer As Folk. a narrow brush of image over substance. No supportive skeleton, no meat and potatoes, a shapeless blob, unashamed plagiarized layout, a rubber-stamp of the big kids. Pretence and bluff have very short lives. Even your targeted mentally challenged audience would be offended at being taken for easily manipulated mugs. The opinion pieces have no conviction or depth and knows not mirth nor parody and is simply a teenagers brag sheet of resource-wasting plane trips and an avowal of straight sex knowledge. I didn’t, couldn’t persevere with its feebleness and had no reason to revisit until you mentioned the connection.

When I did, it was deja vu time, hullo again Bill Murray, to be confronted by an obsession with the yawning, nay, sleeping ghosts of secret files as puff for stories that don’t eventuate. Perhaps age-affected and indifferent citizens could be cajoled into an awe-struck admiration in expectation of what? Just paste stuff from your inspiration, and win support the easy way. You can’t even pretend to have concerns for others; your pompous self-interests blind you to the real frustrations that like-minded public servants inflict on a helpless, but not always gullible public. The late sixties saw the more spirited dissenters confront authority on city streets. The current generation take trembling refuge behind the three monkeys or the thin air of a p.c. keyboard.

The manipulated and faulty meter, or tag column, from which could be shrieked the misnamed, ALEXANDER THE GREAT won’t marry; PREFERS HEPHAESTION. Also prominent in this column was the heinous and grotesque Ferguson who sells newspapers when he moves residence. He is really the ugly representation of pedophilia who takes the flak for child molestation made by predatory business and sporting ‘pillars.’ who will in five minutes of intimidating perversion, destroy forever a life and a trusting young mind. This crime is aided and abetted by defenders of alleged wrong-doers and the smug, easy-riding clergy and in fact, all pretenders and humbugs. If child molestation is an actual concern of yours, why aren’t you calling for the destruction of those churches where the offences occurred? But of course, that could make the source of your illiterate converts a wee bit shitty on you.

To my utter dismay, you invited my participation, or, more likely, extended an invitation to massage egos and vanity to which I initially declined explaining my reservations. After relenting, it was with hope that I could engender interest in an ailing, limp site by introducing intelligent observation on the irrelevant and ludicrous subject of same sex marriage that was intriguing you at the time. My effort and input was rewarded by two disingenuous kids proffering uninformed and offensive remarks. Engaging the brain before opening and closing the mandible assists in hiding one’s stupidity, it is said, as does securing them and keep us guessing at what enlightening material is ever-ready to astonish the plebeians. Which translates to disable the reply to comment box.

All My Love, Les.

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